Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Wow. Apparently, shame can be part of Marshal Howard's makeup.
So many heavy words. Sweet ones, too. He wasn't kidding – this is hard for him.
I don't know, but I doubt they've ever been apart. I have a brief flash of Marshal's hulking arms holding a new born baby, bottle feeding her, alone and uncertain as he learns what it takes to protect this new life.
It's also not the first time I've wondered why there's no Mrs. Howard. “What about Mia's mother?” I instinctively know it's not an easy question. “Can't she help out?”
Marshal doesn't breathe. His gaze sharpens, intensifies, a new energy I can't quite comprehend coming into it. He holds his daughter softly against his chest.
I don't know why I bother saying the next words. They just come out. I need to know, and maybe he isn't following. “I mean, it's none of my business, but doesn't she have –“
It's incredible how intimidating he is even when there's a tired child in his arms. He storms closer, buries me in his shadow, and cuts me off mid-sentence with nothing but the fierce glow in those eyes. They've become oceans, dragging me under.
“Don't, Red. I'll cut you some slack this time, and this time only because you don't know better.” His eyes bore deeper into mine and his voice becomes a harsh whisper. “Listen close because I'm only gonna say this once: never, ever talk about the bitch who walked out on my baby girl in this house. She's dead to us.”
Holy crap. I'm trembling, backing away, wishing I could disappear through the nearest wall. “Uh, sorry. I'm sorry, Marshal. I didn't know. Really.”
I still don't know anything, technically. What does 'dead to us' mean? Is this woman gone literally? Figuratively?
Whatever the case, it's not the time to find out. I'm long past due to get the hell out of dodge.
“I'll drop by the day after Christmas, just like we planned. Sorry for any bad memories, again.”
“Sadie, stop.” His voice freezes me mid-turn, before I find my way out through the kitchen. Wincing, I close my eyes, scared to look back. I finally do, wondering if the next word I'll hear is fired. “Grab the envelope off the table with your pay before you leave. It's all there, and then some. Merry Christmas.”
I almost died. I can't even manage a smile as I beat it out of his house.
I barely remember to snatch up the envelope before I'm gone, skipping the goodbye. His heavy footsteps tread in the other direction, taking his little girl upstairs for her nap.
It only hits me later what a thoughtless, skittish asshole I am. It's later, after I'm up in my room binging Netflix, and mom is down for the night. There's three hundred dollars when I tear open the envelope. Over twice what he owed for the day. There's also a note tucked inside with the same blocky, crabbed writing I saw the first day I decided to go after the nanny gig.
Here's your bonus, Red. Now think about the rest. I want you under my roof helping out. I'll even be a perfect gentleman.
I don't know whether to laugh, sigh, or breakdown in tears. Whatever else Marshal, Papa Bear, the Castoff is, he's an emotional labyrinth.
Later at the drugstore I stop for extra wrapping paper and a few last loose ends before Christmas. I pick up an extra box of candy for Mia, a late gift I'll give the little girl as soon as my break is over. I also get her a couple coloring books and find a bag of treats for Whiskey, the overgrown ginger who spends most of his time sleeping in the corner cat bed while I'm babysitting.
I hesitate in the coffee aisle, but yes, I even breakdown and buy a nice bag of imported beans for Mr. Grinch himself.
Marshal's offer won't stop gnawing at my belly. It shouldn't be possible to carry this creeping frustration down Port Eagle's main street, fully decked out for the festive season, but I do.
I've never been a fan of the holiday rush. It just seems claustrophobic, another measure of my time ticking away in every blinking light and winking plastic Santa.
I can't go on like this. Decisions are waiting. I want to talk to my family sooner, rather than later, and make the best of the fallout. If I even decide to become Marshal's temporary live-in nanny.
My luck doesn't improve much when I pull into the driveway. My brother's fancy SUV is parked in front. It's been there long enough to have the evening's dusting of snow sitting on its black sun roof.
Pushing my key into the front door lock, I grit my teeth. My jaw clenches tighter when it opens for me.
“There you are, weirdo.” Jackson steps aside, giving me space. Nothing dampens his ugly grin as I yank open the closet door, peeling off my winter coat.